Must Remember: Think First
by eloelay
Summary: HIATUS MWPP 'Ive got to meet Moira,' Art said matter of factly. 'Moira Briggs...' Sirius asked. 'Yeah, how'd you know...' 'I just know her.' 'Hm, You really do know everyone.'
1. Bit of a Mouth on Her

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. You don't have to rub it in, you know. The only person I do own is Art, who I am damn proud to have come up with all by my onesy.

Still doesn't compare to J.K.R., but shut up.

Let me bask in my own effing glory for a sec, kay?

Napoleon Dynamite voice Gosh.

EDIT: Cetesy, you're totally right about the nicknames; sorry! Brain fart.

Thanks so much for the compliments; you are so on my Christmas list.

Update your story quickly please! pout oh please oh please oh pleeeeeease?

EDIT EDIT? : You're right, je suis une pizza, it does mean "tangible". I had thought it meant "friendly", but then I realized that that didn't fit either. So now it's "confident". There ya go, all better. And, also, Art does have dark blonde hair, but it doesn't flow beautifully down her back in gorgeous ringlets or anything. She doesn't have slow hair either (pantene pro-v hair that, when one flips his/her hair over their shoulder, time slows to observe such perfection), and she has dark eyes so no worries 'bout that.

**Chapter 1: A Bit of a Mouth on Her**

**IN WHICH Our Friends Become Eachother's**

"Sirius Black?"

Artemesia took a small breath as a boy, who was rather handsome indeed though it went unnoticed by her, walked up the steps to the stool and the Sorting Hat.

"That thing is ugly as sin," she had muttered under her breath as she had seen Professor McGonagall had brought it out, as well as the three-legged stool on which the boy called Sirius Black now sat.

"You can say that again," a boy had whispered beside her. Artemesia, who had been chewing on her thin ponytail, jumped, surprised by the voice and turned around, dark eyes set on a boy, just as handsome, standing there behind her, looking off into the distance where Sirius sat. He saw her attention on him, looked at her and grinned. "James Potter, nice to meet you."

"Artemesia Bray," she muttered, holding out a confident hand to him, though the air she portrayed was much contrary to her feelings. She lifted the ends of her lips in a tiny, gentle way that made her seem small. But then, Art had always felt so small, so it somehow fit her, no matter how much she wished it did not.

"That's a bit of a mouthful," James thought aloud, causing Artemesia to bite back a remark welling up in her head. This was the first person to talk to her at all; opening that rebellious mouth of hers could only do more damage than good.

"Gryffindor!" shouted the hat.

Sirius Black walked down the steps with a grin. With as much of a swagger in his gait as a pirate, he sat himself at the head of Gryffindor table. From where he sat, he had both a perfect view of the proceedings as well as communication range with his friend.

"Evening, Jamesy," Sirius whispered, "D'you reckon you'll make it into Gryffindor?"

"If you made it in, Sirius? Sure, I'm practically guaranteed," James said airily. He turned round to stare at the hat, and then saw Art from the corner of his eye.

"Oh, this is Art," James introduced just as hushed. He motioned his head in a pointed manner to Art, who stood frozen where she stood, trying to pay attention to the Sorting, but could not, it seemed, for the life of her. "Quite a wit, she is, or so it seems."

She blushed, adding a slight tinge to a flushed face. "Artemesia Bray, it's nice to meet you."

"Sirius Black, pleasure."

Her heart palpitations and the resulting pound of blood in her ears gave way to a feeling of light-headedness when she realized what was going on. Her name had been called.

"Oh Merlin," she whispered, and as quickly as she possibly could to make up for lost time, jogged up the steps and plopped down onto the stool. The noise it made was louder than Art would have liked. The Sorting Hat was lowered onto her head by a frowning McGonagall. It lay on her head for a little while, perhaps a few moments, but it passed like an awkward hour in her head.

Finally, the Sorting Hat opened its ugly mouth and shouted, "Gryffindor!"

"Huh?" Artemesia's face became the picture of confusion at that moment, and all concerns of being timid escaped her. Her eyebrows were knitted down over her dark eyes, her nose was wrinkled with nostrils flared, and her eyes were wide.

"Miss Bray, off you go," said Professor McGonagall quietly. Her voice was hushed, not nearly loud enough to announce to the Great Hall of her momentary lapse, but certainly loud enough to quiet the roar within Art's head.

"Huh? Oh, right," she said, coming to, and walked to the Gryffindor table. She sat slowly next to Sirius, though she hadn't noticed it even when he tapped her on the shoulder and spoke.

The Sorting continued behind her. "Briggs, Moria?"

"What was with the face up there?" he asked with a look of confusion on his face that looked like the one she had worn before, only to a much more tame degree.

Art only waved her hand, swatting an invisible fly. She scratched her head. "What were the chances of that?" she thought, "I thought I was a sure-fire hit for Hufflepuff. What happened?"

"Hm, maybe the hat is broken," she thought out loud; the fact that she'd _said_ it, not only _thought_ it had gone unacknowledged. Such is not something anyone would recommend, considering it often landed people with loose tongues in more trouble than they'd like. Art was no different.

"Maybe," Sirius replied, only slightly peeved, taking it into stride or so it seemed. "After all, Igot in here. Why do you think it's off?"

Art had barely been paying attention, therefore had no idea who it was. Eyes glued to the stool, she leaned slightly to the side, tossing her longish bangs to the side. "Stupid thing put me in Gryffindor."

He raised his brows and smirked. "Me, too." She recognized the voice suddenly. She jumped, and then proceeded to widen her eyes until they resembled saucers.

"Oh Merlin, I'm so sorry," she apologized hastily, holding up her hands in a placating manner for emphasis.

"It's cool," he said, smiling, "But it's true. I should have been sorted into Slytherin for my background."

"Why d'you say that?" she asked quietly, only just recovering from the embarrassment her mouth had caused again.

"'Cause he's as pure as they come," James said, sitting next to her. She jumped again, except this time her reaction was much less exaggerated.

"What do you mean?" she asked, and then fought down the slap to the forehead she was ready to give herself.

James smiled, seeing the look on her face, which displayed everything she thought. "He comes from the Black family, one of the few truly pureblood families left in the wizarding world. Never mind that he's more mischievous than I am, and that's saying something. Not nearly as smooth, though."

"Hey," Sirius protested calmly, "that time we got caught was completely your idea!"

"Yeah, but you didn't protest!" James retorted. He smiled broadly, "We got Kreacher good that time though, didn't we?"

"Yup." He returned a similar grin. "He was yellow and pink polka-dotted for a week. Mum nearly tore out my throat; she'd had to explain to the guests that he'd come down with a rare flu."

Art cleared her throat uncomfortably.

"Oh right," Sirius said, seeming to snap out of his reminiscing. "So, how come you think the hat's off its rocker?"

She opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by James's name being called. He went up and both of the ones left behind felt little surprise when the hat wasted no time shouting, "Gryffindor!"

She waited for James to get back, smug mile-wide grin in place. He sat across from her, and Art was ready to slap that stupid smile off his face. "So what was it you were saying?"

"There's no reason in particular," Art murmured sheepishly, hating the spotlight burning her cheeks, "Just thought I'd make it into Hufflepuff, having my personality and all."

"Well, by term's end, that won't be a problem anymore. That is, if you hang out with us all year."

Another boy, who had been casting about for a bit, took a staid glance at the empty seat beside James.

"Hey there, mate," James greeted, earning a small jump from the sandy-blonde boy beside him.

"Oh, heh, hello," the boy said. He was shy; his face became tinged with scarlet red and his scarred face reflected such a state of demure to rival a blushing bride. _Not that he looked like a girl,_ Art quickly filled in her head,_ No, he was quite a manly…er, masculine…boy? Hm, good enough._

"Wonky ride?" Art muttered, "You look like hell."

The boy looked up, and Sirius looked at her with a mixture of embarrassment and pride at her audacity. He faced the boy while Art's eyes widened until they were the size of Galleons. "You mustn't take it to heart; bit of a mouth on her."

The sandy-haired boy smiled good-naturedly. Art felt, for a lasting moment, very, very unworthy.

"Oh my, I'm so sorry…" Art began, then trailed off curiously, "What is your name, anyway?"

"Heh, Remus Lupin," he replied, a wan smile on his tired face. A feeling of both sympathy and stupidity overcame her. Her and her big mouth would get her killed someday.

"I'm Sirius Black, that's James Potter, and this-" He stopped with a quirked smile at an insurmountably abashed Art, "is Artemesia Bray."

"Nice to meet you all," Remus murmured.

A crash and a small hop from James caught the attention of Remus, Sirius, and Art to James, who was practicing a deep-breathing exercise, slapping a towel at his newly scorching, soaked lap. A boy, with a suspiciously rat-like face and what my mother would call "an unfortunate complexion", was panicking, jumping up and down like a mad bird.

"Oh Merlin, so sorry, so sorry, so sorry!" he was repeating over and over like a mantra.

"Oh Damnit, that's hot! That's really freaking hot!" James was gasping, trying to dry off the torrid soup stain on his pant leg.

"Are you alright there, James?" Sirius asked between hidden fits of giggles.

"No, not really," James said in a mock calm voice, though it came out quite high-pitched and cracked.

"Didn't reckon you were," Remus said, chuckling.

"Oh gosh, I am so sorry," the boy was still shrieking. "So, so, so, so sorry!"

Sirius grinned at the kid despite himself, "It's all fine, mate. You gave us a good laugh." This earned a glare from a now considerably euphoric expression. Art was drawn to the steam rising from his lap, and spotted a larger soak mark there than before. He held his emptied goblet in his hand.

Art hardly kept from grinning. _He had poured water on himself._

"I'm Peter Pettigrew," said the boy, and then regaled the actions with exaggeration of his hands. They laughed. He did it over and over again until it quite irritated them.

"That'll be enough of that." Sirius cut him off in mid-reenacted-spill. In spite of that, he smiled. Art smiled. Remus smiled. James smiled. It seemed a chain reaction that would be repeated over the years to come.

A motley crew they made, indeed, but a very interesting one all the same.

**Chapter 2: One Tentacle, Two Tentacle, Three Tentacle, Four**

**IN WHICH Our Friends Are Confronted with More Squid than Necessary**

Progress started on the second chapter already. I suppose you can see from the title of the second chapter and the very very short description below it, what said chapter will be about.

I enjoyed writing up Art, who I can only hope is not a Mary-Sue, but with a mouth as big as hers, I didn't think so.

But I've been proven wrong, haven't I?

I have a friend just like her, who sometimes comes off as quiet and timid – mind you, timid, not self-conscious, cause when you start her up about herself, she'll never want to hear the end of it – but who has quite the mouth on her.

She'd hate me if she read this.

But then she'd love me because she loves Sirius as much as I do.


	2. One Tentacle, Two Tentacle, Three Tentac...

**Chapter 2: One Tentacle, Two Tentacle, Three Tentacle, Four**

**IN WHICH: Our Friends Are Confronted with More Squid than Necessary**

"And you're sure it won't blow up in my face like last time?" Peter asked sheepishly, watching Art warily as she moved in to drop in a sprig of flutterby.

"Almost certain," Art replied, despite her face being turned away and having been watching the proceedings through one winced eye.

She liked to think she had a knack for potions; even ignoring the large boils bobbling on the cheeks of her very unfortunate Potions partner, Peter Pettigrew, such was not true.

She dropped it and ducked, covering her head with her arms.

Poor Peter hadn't had such foresight.

As expected (though not by all), there was a very, very loud explosion.

"I knew it was one too many knotgrass weeds," Art murmured thoughtfully, stroking her chin.

On the top of her head, a small number of once dark dirty-blonde, now black hairs were standing on end; their newly shortened tips alight with cinders.

She considered herself to be an excellent display of a practitioner of the art of potion-making.

And clearly, that was just not true.

Peter Pettigrew let out a breath, and started sneezing like mad.

…Nope, not true at all.

"What do you mean 'one too many'? You practically poured the entire bag!" Peter screeched, trying to extinguish the minimal flame born on his blonde head.

Art wrinkled her nose. "I could have sworn that's what the recipe read." She was still stroking her chin, hairs still alight.

"5 points from Gryffindor for Miss Bray's ineffable lack of common sense..." drawled the professor, Professor Vidal, sweeping the dungeon and resting his glance to Peter, "And five more for damages done to Mister Pettigrew."

Art sighed. So there'll be no going back to the Common Room then.

The bell rang, signaling the end of the class.

She trailed after Peter sulkily, her heavy messenger bag balancing its weight on her neck.

"Nice move there, Art," James said, raising his eyebrows in sarcasm.

"Well, it is only ten points," Remus countered with a small, sheepish smile that somehow made things much better.

Art glanced at him gratefully.

"Yeah, but that isn't even the end of it," Sirius said. He had crossed his arms behind his head as they walked up from the dungeons. "This is the second set of points you've lost us, Art. At this rate, we'll be down to negatives by the time the House Cup comes round."

Art sent a glare towards him, but it was half-hearted. Hearing the kind of truth she didn't want to hear often did that to her.

In fact, so unwelcome was the comment that it spurred a childish poking out of her tongue between her lips.

"Might want to keep that firmly in your cavity, considering someone's in a ripe mood to chop it off." The "that" in question quickly snapped back to its safe place in her mouth so that it made a sound loud enough to bring heat to Art's cheeks.

"Who?" she asked, and Sirius only jabbed his thumb in the direction of a storming McGonagall, heading her way.

Only narrowly did she escape the wrath of an angry Scot, because Sirius's hand had somehow curled round her tied-up hair and yanked it hard.

"Ow!" she shouted, gripping the base of her ponytail, trying to make sure it was back to its calculated messiness. Anymore than the messiness she had set it at this morning would not be socially acceptable.

"Well, it's your own fault," he muttered, pouting as she frowned.

"Why's she in such a rush anyway?" James had finally put a word in, after recovering from a rather dangerous giggle-fit at the sight of Art yanked backwards by the hair. He had been slapping the backs of nearly everyone near him – poor Remus and Peter will still massaging their aching shoulders. "She's bound to plow someone over. Hell, she near did you in. Now what in Merlin's name is so important that she's ready to make her beloved students road-kill?"

Art shrugged. McGonagall scared her often; all Scots did.

"So who do you have next?" Remus asked generally.

"Binns," Sirius and James said.

"Flitwick," Peter murmured.

"McG, but I don't think she's showing up," Art said.

"No fair, you'll have a sub!" James shouted indignantly.

"Some kids get all the luck," Sirius shrugged enviously. Art only sighed and began on her merry way to Transfiguration.

"Psst."

Art ignored it, hoping she wouldn't have to look up from the shelter of her arms. She was skulking in her own misery, and she preferred to do it alone, thank you very much. Maybe if she pretended to be dead, they'd stop. So she held her breath and tried to concentrate on looking dead.

…What do dead people look like anyway?

"Pssssssst."

_Okay, Art,_ she thought, _you've seen dead people before. Just try to look like them._

Pale!

Already pale.

Cold! They were usually cold, weren't they?

But how does one get cold?

_Think cold thoughts. Yeah, that'll work._

"Psssssssssst."

Her nose itched. Oh, how it itched.

_Come on, Art, only hold out a bit longer and maybe she'll forget about you._

But it itched so very much.

_No, Art._

So very, _very_ much.

_No! Will power!_

Oh, but it just itched and twitched and tingled and pricked and-

Oh Damnit, scratched it.

"Psst."

"What?" Art nearly shouted, drawing the attention of the class to her. She laughed nervously and smiled, and the class re-railed itself. She inconspicuously lowered her head back into her arms.

"Psssst."

"What?" she asked again, taking care to whisper this time.

"What's your name?" It was a girl, with wild, corkscrew-curly brown hair and light eyes. Her nose was pointed, giving her an almost rabbit-like quality.

"Artemesia Bray," she muttered back half-heartedly. _That was it?_

She replied, "I remember you from the Sorting. You were the one they had to call twice."

Art nodded nervously, a case of the blushies already burning her cheeks. Her cheeks had been taking a scalding since she arrived at Hogwarts.

"I was right after you, too," she replied loftily, and quite loudly. So loudly, in fact, that Art winced, looking around to see if anyone had heard. No one had, all heads conversing of their own accord while the substitute sighed, looking defeated.

"Relax, kiddo, it's only a lecture. Besides, she's already given up. Look at her, straight out of Wizarding School and already her dreams of teaching the bright-eyed youth of tomorrow have been dashed. Our job is done, and it's sad, yes, but we couldn't possibly allow a naïve visionary to teach us as a real professor. It's just not done."

Art quirked her nose. She hadn't thought of it that way.

To be honest, she'd never thought of it at all.

Substitute teachers often took second seat in her mind when compared to boys and school and gossip.

"Moria Briggs, nice to meet ya, Art," she said with a grin, holding out her hand.

Art took it, allowing a smile of her own to slide across her face.

This whole friend-making thing was getting to be more and more a habit.

The Marauders and Art made their tedious way to the lake. It always had the best trees round it to sit by and talk smack about this or that, or who was dating who.

There was a lovely beech tree, just five or ten yards from the lake, that was beautiful that time of year.

It had the best shade and it was furthest away from the slight cluster further away.

Due to its innumerable perks, that beech tree had been their adopted haven.

Art sat quietly, scribbling some gibberish for an assignment from Professor Binns on the Giants War. Remus was beside her, leaning against the tree, reading a book he'd extricated from a pile in the library labeled "Give Away".

Sirius and James were off in the corner, plotting something or another. The rest knew better than to involve themselves just yet, lest they wind up headless due to James's and Sirius's paranoia.

She took a moment to observe her finished work and smiled despite herself.

Now _this _was fine, phony work. Sirius and James would have been proud – that is, if they weren't so impossibly enveloped in their own ministrations.

Art rolled her eyes at the thought and turned her attentions to the lake.

There were always students grouped on the other side, huddled into their cliques, conversing. But there was a straggler, too, a figure roaming idly about the other side, avoiding the clumps scattered about the lakeside.

There was always a straggler.

Art turned her attention to the lake surface, where it was calm and undisturbed.

It was charming, as its light colour at the center blended into darker and darker hues at the shallower parts.

And it was so smooth, like glass…

_Wait, _Art thought, _Smooth? What happened to the-_

And sure enough, as soon as the notion stole across her mind, there it was.

The squid broke the surface of the water, swinging and whipping its tentacles all about it like a demented swing-o-rama.

Art stared, unable to move, at the squid.

It looked to be even bigger now that it was angry, or, the more plausible explanation, now that Art was actually scared of it.

It took all she had of the years of social insecurity not to scream; she screamed now, and she would never be able to walk into Hogwarts with her head held high.

A tentacle came whipping round her, moving so quick it left a speed blur trailing behind it.

It was heading towards her, at a break-neck speed.

Mind blank, she began to run. This was not one of the brightest ideas, considering the speed at which it was moving, and her history for being the worst runner ever to wear sneakers. But, as was said before, her mind was blank.

Situations such as these did that to Art's head; they turned it into a very, very empty place.

Art stumbled - what a time for clumsiness – and rolled over for two seconds.

This time was just long enough, coincidentally, for the tentacle to whiz right over her head with a whistling noise that sounded to Art like victory.

Until, of course, she heard the resulting yell.

"Oh Merlin," she murmured, and chanced a look up.

Remus was being swung round like a rag doll, wrapped in the tentacle of the squid.

"Oh Merlin," she whispered, hardly able to catch her breath. Another tentacle – she'd forgotten he'd had more than one – appeared from beneath the surface and swiped at Peter's feet.

He jumped just in the nick of time, as though he'd been expecting it.

He hadn't, however, been expecting it to swipe a second time.

When he fell, it grasped him by the feet and held him upside down.

He was shrieking like a banshee.

Sirius was being taunted and tripped by a tentacle, and James had been throwing spells at it, trying to stun it.

It kept tripping Sirius each time his hand got too close to his wand, and James's spells were rebounding off the appendage.

Seeing both her friends thrashing above her head caused her mind to suddenly clutter.

_Come on,_ Art thought, _come on, and think!_

She rummaged through her mine-field of a brain, looking for a spell, any spell, that would help them.

A stunning spell? No, it's already got two of them; they'd be stuck there.

A levitating spell? No, it would hurt the squid, and that would cause repercussions.

Her head began to pulse, temples burning.

Oh, how she'd love to sever that stupid squid's head off for making her think this hard.

Wait…severing!

That's it!

"Diffindo," she shouted, waving her wand just as Professor Flitwick had taught in class. She pointed her wand towards the tentacle that held Remus.

As both the tentacle and he fell, he coughed, having been constricted before in the squid's grasp.

"Finite Incantatem," she squeaked only barely loud enough, just as the squid's tentacle and Remus not long after dropped to the shallows of the lake. The sight had made her a tad queasy, but once more, the societal rules applied.

The tentacle reattached itself to the squid's stub, Remus-less.

There was still the matter of Peter, who was making himself quite known due to his shrill cries.

The tentacle taunting Sirius had finally been stunned by James; he'd hit a weak spot.

Sirius jumped to his feet, only just gaining his balance without the tentacle to chase him.

He quickly cast the same charm, watching with a strong stomach but a weak, conveying face, as the tentacle fell to the ground, twitching a bit as Peter still rolled around, screaming. The undoing charm was shouted, too loud to be sincerely strong and just before Sirius bit his fist and swallowed the bile in his throat.

"James, stun it!" she yelled.

James looked at her and nodded. "Stupefy!"

The squid froze. Art flopped onto her bum, sighing.

Peter was still shrieking.

"Peter, shut up! It's over."

"What do you think caused the squid to attack? It's usually as sweet as a puppy." They had been sent to the hospital wing as soon as word had gotten round, and it had gotten round fast. It was purely for a night of bed rest, because none of them had sustained serious injury. Sirius was still lying on his face, an ice-pack pressed to his bum where he'd fallen, so his voice was muffled.

"I don't know," murmured Art, who sighed.

"Weird though; two semi-docile beings turned mental in one day, McGonagall _and_ the Giant Squid," James murmured.

"McGonagall, _docile_?"

"He said semi-docile, Sirius," Remus replied, lying on his back. He was half-asleep, the usual tired look on his face multiplied tenfold.

Peter was soundly snoring in the corner bed. He hadn't had more than a scratch on his face when he'd arrived, but his mind had been quite a state. He hadn't stopped screaming since they'd arrived, until Madame Pomfrey had given him a sleeping potion.

"Whatever it was, I hope it's the end of it," Art whispered, drifting off into a light sleep, "I can't take too many more days like this."

**Chapter 3: …**

To be honest, I don't really know yet.

I'm going to New York tomorrow, so I won't be updating for a while.

I don't have much time now, really, so this last part is rushed.

Review please. :D


	3. One Lost and Things Found

A: No, the "ia" was not necessary; but I have a friend named Artemis who is a boy, and every time I think of the name without the superfluous "ia", I think of him. It's really more for me than anyone else, but besides that, I thought the name sounded kinda spiffy with it.

**Chapter 3:One Lost and Things Found**

**IN WHICH A Friend has Lost, and our Friends have Found**

Moira was nice; Art certainly thought so.

She wasn't very pretty, but she was loud, and sometimes, loud was good.

Art, ever since the deafening silence of her grandmother's funeral, and the deafening silence that followed, fostered a conditional dislike for quiet.

There were times, like all the proverbs in any book or any poster on any Muggle teacher's wall, when silence was smarter than words.

But just because it was smarter, didn't mean it was better. At least, Art certainly thought so.

Other times, it was the best relief you could ask for, because you couldn't possibly think of anything to say anyway.

Art wondered if this was one of those times.

Moira looked at the ground expectantly.

Art thought for a moment if she was waiting for it to crack open and swallow her up; if so, she knew the feeling.

Lines of tears had saturated the colours of Moira's cheeks, and her light eyes were brighter with the red that rimmed them.

Her fingertips, red from the cold just like her own, grasped a letter.

In that letter were things that made up Art's worst nightmares, which made up anyone's most common nightmare – common, but frightening none the less.

It was the kind of terror you didn't like to think about, that when someone brought it up, you pushed it away as quickly as you could or said a quick "God forbid."

Because it was that bad, because it was that terrifying, because it was that close to hitting home sometimes.

The letter floated to the floor, and Art bent down to pick it up.

She offered it to Moira to take it, but she didn't.

Art read it herself, the entirety of it, not the clips and glimpses Moira had almost inaudibly mouthed along to.

_We are devastated to inform you, Miss Briggs, that your father has passed on._

It was an automated handwriting, in which every letter that was 'a' looked the same and every letter that was 'b' looked the same.

It wasn't even from her mother.

She turned it around, and thought for a moment there was something written there.

A shimmery type, invisible and pearly, was there, she could swear it, but she could not read it…Perhaps it wasn't there at all. Art quickly disregarded it quickly.

"Would it help if I said everything would be okay?" Art asked quietly, keeping her hands to herself, fully knowing that contact at the moment was the last thing the poor girl needed.

She tucked the note away into her sleeve, casting a helpless glance at her messenger bag.

Priorities being what they were, she could not move.

Moira shook her head, smiling a tiny, miniscule smile at her before the tears began to make her sniff a mighty sniff. "Art, you're something else."

oOoOo

"How very noble of you, Miss Bray," bit the expectant Professor Vidal, "to stay the duration of my class out of class to comfort a crying friend. Now that, if nothing else, deserves a handshake."

He was expectant because there was undeniably a better excuse hiding the folds of Art's robes.

He was waiting for that excuse – in the form of a note, no doubt, holding an interesting secret as to what or perhaps who had kept her from classes – to tumble out of her sleeve soon as an unnecessarily hearty handshake was delivered on his part.

Hopefully, it would be something incriminating a certain Sirius Black or Remus Lupin or one of the Marauders, as they were friends of hers and had a fondness for making trouble as well as dragging others into it.

"Well, really it was nothing at all," Art murmured, smiling despite herself.

She didn't want to be recognized for a deed she felt was required of her, but damn her, if she wouldn't be polite about it, and from a professor made it important to be nice moreover.

He shook it vigorously.

Her face contorted impossibly, worried that he would rip her arm off.

Seeing her face mirror worry (misinterpreting was a particularly prominent characteristic of the professor) he was heartened and shook with renewed fervor.

Neither the note nor her arm came loose.

"Damn," he whispered inaudibly through clenched teeth, but smiled all the while. Gruffly, he said, "Well, get to your seat this instant. I'll not have you miss anymore of my class."

Art nodded, shaken both mentally and physically, and stumbled to her seat.

"What's the real reason?" Sirius murmured as the professor's back was turned.

Art furrowed her brows. "I told the truth."

"Who cried?"

"You wouldn't know her."

"Who the hell wouldn't I know?"

"Hubris," Art muttered under her breath, quickly covering her mouth the moment she registered that he had heard.

"Huh? 'Sthat her name?"

"Hubris is a literary term, Sirius; it means a supreme amount of pride, which is usually the character's downfall," Remus muttered from behind them. He was scribbling like mad on a piece of parchment as the professor wrote up their homework.

"Then I am deeply offended, Art, my dear, and I do not like you anymore," Sirius informed, pouting like a scorned child and looking like one too.

"Suck it up, Sirius, and don't be ridiculous," James muttered, leaning back in his seat.

"Besides,I just lost a family friend, and I still managed to make it to class. _I'm _even the victim, not like you, who was just the consoler." Sirius glared, but straightened out and toppled his upper body over onto the table.

He sat stalk straight like a shot. "Hogsmeade trip tomorrow."

And after that, the grin could not be burnt, torn, or punched off his face.

oOoOo

"This one, please." Art pointed at a tangerine-yellow lollipop the size of her head. "And a box of those."

"There you go, doll," the woman behind the counter replied, giving her the large lollipop and the dainty tin box of lemon bursts – _they literally burst into a hullabaloo of golden tasty sparks! _

At the very least, that's what the box read.

She opened it to pop one in her mouth, but her action was punctuated by a comment.

"You know those put someone's eye out once," Remus said, being the usual encyclopedia of a plethora of useless information to aid in one's search for more reasons to be neurotic and fear the world around them. He was chewing a stick of EverChew Chewing Gum, and having no trouble as his jaw sprang up and back and up and back with the rubbery candy in his mouth.

Art glanced at him, then put the little yellow sphere back in the tin box, closed the lid, and placed the box right into her bag. "Save that for later, then."

Remus smiled slightly at her reaction, and he would have stopped chewing if it had been an option.

"Will you guys stop smiling at each other and get over here! McGonagall's talking to some guy."

Art and Remus looked at each other and smiled somewhat nervously, then frowned at Sirius and did as he instructed.

James, Peter, and Sirius were peering voyeuristically into a window of the Hog's Head.

They staggered around behind them to look into the ice-frosted window, which had a current view of McGonagall conversing quite hurriedly an odd man, stubby and short, who was twisting and fiddling with his grimy handkerchief.

"Who is that?" Art whispered, leaning on Sirius's back and watching McGonagall and the man as he seemed to anger the Scottish woman about one thing or another.

"I recognize him…I don't remember where, though…" Sirius began, looking off into the sky briefly.

James glanced at him. "Looks like he's really doing a number on pissing McG off."

"I don't know – she looks a bit intimidated." Peter's voice was a squeak, and upon realizing he had contradicted James, returned much more strongly with, "Yeah, she looks really angry."

A unanimous rolling of eyes was performed, until Remus muttered, "Yeah, we gathered that much, Peter."

"Wait, she's leaving," Art said, pushing herself practically onto Sirius's back, toppling the entire group and causing them to fall in a gawky jumble of elbows and knees.

"Well, that was odd," Remus said, "What do you think that was all about?"

Sirius still looked thoughtful, as if he hadn't been paying much attention to the rest of them.

"No time to wonder now; I've got an appointment at the Three Broomsticks."

"With who?" Sirius pushed, eyes narrowed playfully, "You're not supposed to have friends outside of us; it's written clearly in the unwritten laws, doncha know!"

"With Moira, to do some heavy consolation," Art said matter-of-factly.

"Moira Briggs?" Sirius asked off-handedly, still with seemingly divided attention.

"Yeah," she replied, furrowing her brows in surprise, "how'd you know?"

"That's the daughter of the family friend. I know her."

"You really _do _know everyone."

**Chapter 4: ...**

Working on it, promise!

For now, this is all I got.

But put it in a big type, okay?

Please!

So it looks less like I slacked off and such.

I won't be updating for two weeks because of quarterlies and the preceeding studying it demands of me.

See ya.

Oh wait, REVIEW!

5 more reviews necessary for the next chappie!

Once more, see ya, cats and kittens!


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